Free The Snow White Christmas Cookie by David Handler

herself another fellow pretty fast. Or one will find her.”
    “I suppose so.”
    Rut continued to peer at him. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”
    “Such as?…”
    “I had my eye on Josie last night. Something about the way she kept watching one of the other fellas at the party gave me the impression she wasn’t entirely content with Bryce. We’re both men here, so there’s no point in tiptoeing around—it was you who she was looking at. And it’s been you sharing that island with them these past months. Bryce was quite a bit older than Josie. Also plenty frayed around the edges. Everybody knows that you and Josie are friends. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if you were a little something more than that. Can’t say I’d blame you—a healthy young cocksman such as yourself.”
    “Rut, I’m the Jewish film critic from New York, remember? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
    “It isn’t someone else who keeps Dorset’s resident trooper glowing. That there is one contented woman, let me tell you. Always a smile on her face. Any man who can satisfy a gorgeous handful like Miss Desiree Mitry, well, the fellows at the firehouse have nothing but admiration for you, Mitch. Fact is, you’re something of a hero to them.”
    “This is an actual topic of conversation at the firehouse?”
    “Heck yeah. What do you think they talk about—fire safety procedures? And that’s just the fellas. Imagine what the gals over at the Town and Country beauty salon are saying.”
    “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” Mitch said unhappily. This was the downside to living in a small town. Everyone thought they owned a front-row seat to your private life. “Rut, there’s nothing going on between Josie and me. Des is the only woman in my life.”
    “Glad to hear it. I felt the same way myself about my Enid, God rest her soul.”
    “You told me last night that you lusted after Paulette Zander for years.”
    “Still do, truth be told,” Rut conceded. “But thinking about it and doing it are two entirely different things. I always figured a man’s free to dream about any woman he chooses just so long as he doesn’t cross the Mendoza Line.”
    “I think you mean the Maginot Line.”
    The old fellow frowned at him. “I do?”
    “The Mendoza Line refers to Mario Mendoza, the famously light-hitting major league shortstop of the seventies. He was so deficient with a bat in his hands that cracking .200 came to be known as the Mendoza Line.”
    “I think you’re wrong about that one, young fella.”
    “I could be,” said Mitch, who’d learned never to argue with anyone who was over the age of eighty. There was no point. He reached for a ham sandwich and took a bite, chewing on it thoughtfully. “What do the guys at the firehouse say about Hank Merrill?”
    “Hank’s an affable fella. Everybody likes Hank.”
    “Everybody except for you, you mean.”
    “Don’t think I follow you.”
    “I got the distinct impression last night that you don’t care for him.”
    “Naw, Hank’s okay,” the old postmaster said grudgingly. “You just need to understand the background of the situation. Paulette fell to pieces when that husband of hers, Clint, ran off. Just sat there in her house day and night drinking cheap white wine and chain-smoking cigarettes. Stopped showing up for work. Any other postmaster would have canned her. But I covered for her. And she got through it eventually. Sobered up, quit smoking. Only, it was like a part of her died inside. She was never the same person again. When I first met Paulette she was a lighthearted gal, quick to laugh, with a smile that’d make you melt. Want to know something? I can’t remember the last time I saw Paulette smile.” He shook his tufty white head. “When she took up with Hank it had been a lot of years since she’d had a man friend. And, well, Hank was still a married man at the time. Cheating on his wife Mary Ann, to put it plain and